


The Day The World Went Away

by angrybox



Category: Alice in Chains
Genre: M/M, also DRUG USE!!!, both relationships happened prior to this part of the story, you’ve been warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:28:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angrybox/pseuds/angrybox
Summary: so i was an emotional mess today, since it was his death anniversary, and i decided to write a little part of a whole story i had planned.this might create little plotholes here and there, but i did try my best to make this as one shot-y as possible.okay enough rambling, i hope you enjoy itt :P
Relationships: Jerry Cantrell/Layne Staley, Layne Staley/Mike Starr
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	The Day The World Went Away

“Mike!”  
_He told me your cries were loud, practically wails at first, but he was also on the other side of the house, and he refused to believe what he was hearing._  
“M-Mike...where the fuck are ya?!” Layne’s voice continued to wobble, quite similar to the movement of his legs as he stumbled up the stairs.  
_You’d also been shooting up that day, the both of you, which meant he had more the reason to...not listen._  
“Mike...I’m dyin’...”  
_But he stumbled out of his bedroom, away from whoever the fuck he was about to bone, and tried to find you.  
Because he had PROMISED himself to keep you alive that day, no matter fuckin’ what. It was the least he could do for that time back in ‘99.  
It was his own damn birthday, but you were so...helpless...he had to keep an eye on you.  
You were a damn corpse. You had already died a while ago, to most of us, and God knows how you managed to support your own body without your arm being slung around someone._  
“Layne- what the fuck?” he grumbled at the sight of him, doubled over, practically crawling up to him and grabbing onto the cuffs of his pants.  
_He told me out of all the years we’ve seen you broken down to just a...breadcrumb...you’d never looked this desperate._  
“Do you- needle…?” he gasped.  
“Buddy...that’s literally the last thing you need right now.”  
_He picked you up with the last bit of goddamn strength he could gather from being so doped up, and took you into the bedroom he was in before. After kicking out the chick that was there, obviously._  
“Do I call an ambu-”  
“No! No- if- if you do that, I’ll...I’m never talkin’ to you again...”  
_God, he didn’t stop crying. Not one fucking second in our call did he have a steady voice, Layne.  
He was watching you die in his arms, and...he couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t do anything about it, because you would’ve ran away somehow.  
Goddammit, I wish he called me. But what the fuck could I have done, being all the way in goddamn Texas, pissed as shit at you?  
All he could do was force a glass of water down your mouth, along with a measly handful of Doritos from the party, and tried to get you sobered up in that way.  
But I think you knew these were your last few hours anyway._  
“Shit...is it raining…? Layne rasped, groaning when he saw Mike shaking his head as a response.  
“I-I can’t do this shit today…”  
_And then you fell asleep. Or fuckin’ died for the night. It was impossible to tell the difference.  
You were still breathing, he said, so all he could do was tuck you in, and call it a night himself.  
You woke up in the morning, and thank fuck for that.  
I asked him if you looked...better, or responded more today.  
He stayed silent._  
“You want some eggs for breakfast? Like the good ol’-”  
The pain in Mike’s chest caused him to stop talking, from seeing Layne frantically shake his head. There had never been a day within Layne living at his place where he had denied any of his cooking.  
“Please...I know you shoot here…”  
“Layne-”  
“Please! I- I’ll- you can even...you can choose the amount, man...please…”  
_No different to the night before.  
But he could tell you needed it to run. It was your weird, sorta life support, since it was also killing you at the same time.  
He gave in, though, through the form of a smoke. He told me there were no gateways in your ankles, nor your arms anymore, and the last fucking choice was to smoke it.  
Which was nowhere near as lethal as the other option, except for the fact that you kept asking.  
It wasn’t doing jack-shit to you, but he didn’t want to admit that. He didn’t want to turn to the only goddamn way to help._  
“Dude, seriously. I’m sure you’ll feel better after breakfast.”  
_To both of our reliefs, you agreed. You gladly ate every last egg on your plate, even if it took some motivation and force.  
And tears. A helluva lotta tears._  
“You want more?”  
“Nuh-uh…I- I do, but I don’t think my stomach would.”  
Your giggles were weak, but they sounded fresher. They were all Mike needed to create and grab onto the very last bit of hope he had that he could keep his buddy alive.  
“C’mon. Let’s get you upstairs. Lie down a little while I run you a bath.”  
_Those hot flashes that came along with withdrawal are never fun, Mike knew that for himself. Undoubtedly, he wanted to help you through them. He carried you up to his room again, tucking you in while he ran the water and filled up a nice, soothing bath for you. Letting you relax with his ‘The Fragile’ record playing in the background.  
He trusted you enough to leave you alone for those 5, maybe 10 minutes.  
He knew you weren’t the type to go behind someone’s back like that, he knew you would listen to whatever you thought was the best for you.  
He knew you loved him enough to never betray him...in the way that you did.  
As much as he wanted to use all that to excuse you, I hope you understand the anger he had when he returned into his room, to see a needle hanging from the bend of your elbow on your lifeless body.  
It was raining hard that day. I will always remember that factor very clearly, because you had told me the spiritual meaning behind it all, and that you wanted your soul to be free if you ever died.  
Dear God, I hope this was your way of showing me Layne had arrived safely in your hands.  
Treat him with all the kindness you have, forgive him for the disease he couldn’t be cured from.  
Keep him safe for us.  
Yours,  
Jerry F. Cantrell.  
Heh. Even with the same initials as you, I didn’t have the power you have to save this...great guy.  
I couldn’t save a great son, musician, bandmate, friend...boyfriend...hell, I’m sure he would’ve made a helluva great husband too.  
Well, please forgive me for that, and again, keep him safe.  
Amen._

**Author's Note:**

> feedback is greatly appreciated! id love to know if y’all want more from this story, or if i did a trash job. i dont mind either way :P


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